What Really Matters

Last night, I realised that I need to take my freelance project more seriously and get paid for it. I know I'll need the income sooner or later. I figured it was a good opportunity, so I took it on, but honestly, I've never really been that into it. I just figured it would be great for learning. So today, I'm here, on my computer desk, determined to make some real fucking progress for once. At least a single article, no?

I don't fucking know, man. I'm sitting here wondering what the hell I even want to do in the first place instead of making progress. It's like, why the hell do I want to do this again? It really feels like it's just for the money. I don't know if I can work just for money. I don't know how other people do. It's not like they're paying me the God damn haul from El Dorado here. 

I don't know; I'm probably going to whine a lot and then give it a shot anyhow. Bird in hand's worth two in the bush. I guess I'm just not hungry for fucking birds, lol. So yesterday, I was doing a little soul-searching here, and I figured that non-fiction books and fiction stories are my life and blood. They might be passion projects, but I'll be damned if I want to do anything else at this point in my life. 

I want to get my ideas out there; I fucking need to get that shit on paper for that, man. If nothing else, I can take some pride in how fucking difficult it is to work on something so massive that it cripples you each time you begin. Once I get my ideas out there and no one gives a shit, at least I'll have the satisfaction of knowing what the hell I'm all about. 

Right now, at this stage in my life, I'm facing a lot of trouble with fitting in, in the sense that I can't be bothered anymore. I mean, inertia and mirroring habits are keeping me going along that same path, but internally, I'm always in turmoil. So let's take a fucking minute to really think about what really fucking matters to us, and then we can focus on growing that, nurturing it.

So I care about the truth, and not just specific, but universal. I'm curious about things, like figuring out how to live life to the fullest, and make the most of my time here on earth. Pretty esoteric, ain't it? Let's stop looking at beliefs and examine how certain behaviors make me feel. Most of the time nowadays, I don't even enjoy using Instagram for anything.

The only fucking thing that app is good for, is making you feel anxious about you're falling behind. So I don't care about news, the BBC, fucking wars, policies, elections, and shit like that. I no longer care about the people I knew and what they're up to. I mean, come on, not really, I don't. I know I went on this massive thing of reaching out to people and always tryna talk to them and stay in touch. Like how I'm always nice and trying to be a solid conversationalist.

Honestly? That shit's just because I'm curious about how other people's minds work. I also long for connection. I want to be seen, understood and appreciated. Who doesn't want the safety of the group? But I think the issue is that the people I talk to who are willing to talk to me ain't anywhere near interested enough in building a real relationship with me. Hell, there aren't any I'm interested in being involved with.

Surely they feel the same. I think my point here is that there is the reality of how people treat each other, the power dynamics, and the circumstances, all of which combine to show how much people "have your back." Piyush and I might've been roommates in college, but we never really loved each other as friends or brothers. Yet, if I go to Pune today, I know for a fact that that boy will try his best to make it a good time for me, because that's just who he is. Now, THAT is what really matters. Who people really are when shit hits the fan.

Alternatively, there are also the opinions that other people hold of you in their minds. That shit's pure ego. It's that little conscious part of our brains that identifies itself as something and gets attached to it. This shit is all we are really wired to register. It helps us make long-term decisions, but it mostly gives us a sense of security. I typed "false sense of security" at first, but then removed the first word because I think in this context, beauty really lies in the eye of the beholder.

If a hobo lives on the track, sleeps on the road, and passes out drunk on the street, but they feel safe doing it because "people like us do things like these" or "this is who I am, and it feels right." Then, one day, they get run over by a car and die in agony after excruciating pain. The sense of security might've been false, prompted by the numbness of the alcohol, but it was real in the sense that the guy did feel safe. I guess he could've been sleeping sober and died anyway.

The point here is that we can't help but create stories of ourselves, which we protect with our lives as they're tied to our very existence. Except that one's story is rarely an open book to oneself. As the writer, reader, and experiencer, it can be hard to keep track of your story sometimes, but it does come naturally. Along with it comes the need to maintain the image of your story in the outside world. If you tell yourself that you're a king, and everyone treats you like a slave, it can be difficult to live with.

So, I, for one, don't want to do that anymore. That's one thing I don't want to care about anymore: other people's opinions. What they think of me and how they treat me. I don't want to be enslaved by them. Of course, I do care very much. However, this weird, limited ego might offer the potential to be a great tool. What if we can slowly shift the doors of our perception? Alan Watts said, "Imagine that you simply cannot change anything about yourself." I think he was talking about acceptance as a way of life, not some bullshit intellectual hypothetical like Amor Fati or some shit.

Months after reading Annie Duke's wonderful Thinking in Bets, I'm still only beginning to appreciate the omnipotent role luck plays in all our lives. Acceptance helps mitigate that, if only it weren't such a slippery bastard! The trouble is, mastery over acceptance is a bit of an oxymoron/impossibility. It's one of the most significant, pervasive, and pertinent paradoxes I've ever encountered. You gain control by letting go of it.

Destroying yourself so you have nothing to lose. Doesn't sound very sane, does it? Ironically, the norms of our sick world are the furthest away from reason. Yet, this is one of the greatest secrets of our kind. Having put some distance between myself and this article, it's clear that I was struggling to get back on the path again. In fact, I've always struggled to stay on the path. I think it's the same for a lot of other people as well.

When you keep slipping and fucking up again and again, you can't help but feel like you're doing something wrong. No wonder we all take a minute to regroup eventually. Is what we're trying to do really worth the price? Is there a better way to do it? I was trying to find a better way as well, when I started writing this one.

I figured that if I made a list of things I want to do, it would make me excited and give me motivation.  Similarly, I figured making a list of things I don't care about would provide me with more clarity and peace going forward. I can spend the bare minimum time on stuff I don't care about and move on. If I spend more time focusing on things I care about and less on the stuff that I don't, it will surely make things easier for me. 

Sure, let's note the things I thought of as reminders by all means. Don't care about:

- Keeping in touch with people + checking up on them.

- Mobile games, high scores, and streaks. 

- All the apps in existence.

- The news and the latest disaster. 

- Getting laid and how I look.

- Putting efforts into things that give nothing back.

- Making money and getting rich.

- Material possessions like cars, bikes, gadgets, etc.

- Keeping up with the Joneses.

- Other people judging me.

- Being irrelevant. Dying alone. 

- Getting sick and becoming dependent.

- Saving the world and all its creatures.

- Kite flying, sports, driving, reality TV

- Traveling & charity work

- Environmentalism and activism

- Porn and sex

- Drugs and cheap thrills

- Exercise and working out

- How people think of me when I'm gone

- Impacting people and leaving a legacy

- Building an empire or something grand

- Changing the world

Things I do care about:

- The truth in all its forms.

- Curiosity. How do things work, and what makes them tick? What makes a good life? How do we define a person?

- Storytelling and myth-making. The magic of entertainment, engagement, and immersion. 

- Learning, growth, happiness, and change. Life's too long to stay the same, and too boring to be unhappy.

- Trying things firsthand. Seeing everything the world has to offer, from the highest to the lowest. 

- Actually making a fucking difference.

Noting things down, I realize that this is more of an exercise in honesty and taking stock. Rather than a cheat code or hack, it's a recalibration of perspective. I was right to do this, I think it was necessary. I was just going to bitch about how I was looking for a cheat code to make the path easier, but walking on the path makes the path easier.

I was also going to say how stupid it becomes when you force yourself to sit down and put every single thing in a fucking box. You start the task to help you be more productive, but now you're thinking of problems before they occur. Yet, life is a balancing act, and honestly, I think older people need to do this more often. 

How often do you find yourself wondering, daydreaming, thinking of something you've always wanted to do, but then you watch it drown and disappear into the black depths of the abyss as the never-ending urgent demands of the day sweep you away? Insurance, stocks, taxes, personal branding, networking, and Coca-Cola; all for the lad who doesn't care about money. 

Where is the room for greatness? Where is the breath of life? From 60-second news headlines to 30-second reels, cheap things lead to the worst bankruptcies. Watching your days go by in an anxious haze, rushing from one red light to another, it might be prudent to stop and reconsider. I was about to criticize this exercise as a fruitless one because the action is louder than words.

Yet, having given it an honest shot, prioritization is action enough. The key is authenticity and genuine contemplation. Of course, I care about getting laid eventually, and dying alone is famously the worst fate of all, apparently. The magic happens when you truly, genuinely consider one thing in front of another and force yourself not to reconcile but to choose one over the other.

Falling in love with a woman seems important until you have to give up your dream for it. Then it seems absolute fucking worthless garbage. A powerful exercise indeed. Nevertheless, this is a very difficult exercise. It's hard for me to pick food, fresh air, and water over the search for truth or some shit. Water doesn't matter till you're thirsty. Then, it's all the fucking matters.

In all seriousness, I've written those things, but as of yet, I do not believe them. I mean, ultimately, we're all wired to live in some savanna in intimate tribes against the forces of nature. I think it makes sense for us all to have the same needs. I, too, wish to mate and settle down somewhere I can earn a living. You know, I keep getting stuck between these thoughts again and again.

"I want to be an artist and express myself." "I also want to get married and provide for my family." "I have to choose one." Wow, this exercise is quickly becoming very uncomfortable, huh? I guess that's the whole point, eh? No, seriously, I feel like I'm sitting with literally all my anxieties in my hands right now, feeling them all at once.

Holy shit, this is exactly what keeps me going to Instagram, only to close it in frustration. The anxiety makes me feel like I'm fucked no matter what I choose, so I open Instagram to see if anyone else is feeling the same. After all, my brain considers that app to be where my peers are. Then, when I see most of them happy (obviously), it makes me feel worse. 

Now, of course, I want to be fit and healthy, rich and free. I want to be surrounded by people who love me and whom I love back. Of course, I also want to live in a world where the air, water, and food are clean and where people are safe, healthy, and happy. Of course, I want that, man. But let's get real: Who is "I" in this shit? I think that's the real crux of the matter.

The wisdom says that ego is a necessary illusion and the root of all suffering. It says that, at my core, I am that pure isness of existence, the universe's raw energy made conscious. That all these other qualities I identify with: boy, man, Mishtu, Anirudh, Gooner, Stoner, Reader, Writer, Artist, Thinker, Smart, Quiet, Clever, Protege, Prophet, or even the fucking reincarnation of God herself; that all these other things are bullshit cumbersome baggage.

An identity is like a match; it cannot fulfill its purpose without burning itself up. Think about any one of those terms. Man would be the easiest one to illustrate. My idea of a man is a competent, dependable, and trustworthy person who's strong and independent. Man, ain't no human being in the world like that all the fucking time, yet a person can never stop being themselves.

We must constantly reinforce our idea of who we are, or we feel like we're falling apart, that other people don't trust us, and that we're unsafe. More than a double-edged sword, the ego sounds like a curse. Making all these plans and decisions is my own little ego. The one who doesn't feel like they belong with healthy, happy people. The part of me that would rather show myself to the world and find others like me, even if we're incompatible in life, rather than settle for people I might be compatible with, in terms of living together, but who might never see me the way I do. 

A deep thinker. A sensitive feeler. Curious, inquisitive, value-driven, genuine, authentic, and special. A unique and valuable member of this world, blessed with God's gift to do work only I'm capable of. A writer who can stir transformation, a storyteller who can impress crowds, and a great communicator who inspires the world and leads change. Is that who I am? Is that all I am? A fucking mirage? A daydream? A fucking mechanical kitty waving its paw to invite people into a shop? A fucking tool made with a set purpose.

This conflict is at the heart of every mistake I make. Every slip-up, fuck-up, or blatant abuse I've been responsible for. If the conscious brain makes decisions, then it makes sense that irregularities, inconsistencies, and conflicts within the ego will directly lead to problematic choices and negative repercussions.

On one hand, I am an aspiring artist who has something to say. On the other hand, I'm a pragmatic professional committed to delivering solutions for money. My poor body, always having to reconcile between wanting to be in two places at once, pulling itself in separate directions, always tensed up and leaking power, wasting energy. Forced to regress to old, destructive habits of addiction, because they protected it in the past.

I try to remind myself that I'm not the person I try to be. That I'm just like a plant, tree, or cow: a stream of pure consciousness detached from this plane of existence. It helps to simplify shit to that level, but all it takes is another person to talk to me, and the ego snaps back into front seat. Probably why vows of silence and being alone in caves are such common spiritual practices. 

So, what conclusion did we reach? I learned that I (my ego) would rather die sick, poor, alone, and forgotten, working on my own ideas, rather than live a life full of worldly comforts surrounded by others. In response to this realisation, I will not strive to kill my ego and serve humanity. For all intents and purposes, I am my ego. While it might be helpful to be aware of this reality and try to minimise the damage, it might prove impossible to change it completely. 

In an ideal world, people should be able to take wellness retreats and become ascetics on at least a biannual basis. They can serve as volunteers in charities during such times haha lol. Wouldn't that be the dream? Well, we've taken a long, hard look here. I've identified my core motivations here and set my priorities. Unfortunately, I've also become acutely aware of my endeavor in the process. 

I don't want to be a writer out of the goodness of my heart, for the good of the masses, or some divine calling. It's just the most appropriate thing for my ego to latch on to. I may train, aspire to be, and act like some master copywriter idea man, a big-time visionary movie director, or your average holier-than-thou author. No matter what I do, or how I hard I try, it's all me, in this big ass playground, playing pretend in my head.

I might rally some troops or I might piss some people off. But if I imagine a tree on the playground getting struck down by lightning, and try to will it into existence, well, it's clear to me now that I have no right to feel disappointed if and when nothing at all happens when I do so. Because, yes, I know what I care about and what not, but I've also realised that we're all in the fucking jungle, playing our own games. Ain't no special meaning, mission, rhyme, or reason. It's all just empty, random chaos.

It is in our nature to make things out of shapes, people out of clouds, and lines from dots. As such, I will continue to try to enjoy my nature to the best of my abilities. I will also keep my realisations in mind, how I long to be heard for more than seen or even held. But if and when I speak up, and no one gives a fucking shit, well, I'm just trying to reconcile with that fact. That's my final conclusion here: No matter what the hell I do, no one in going to give a shit anyway.

I might have the oomph and spectacle of P. T. Barnum himself, but no one owes me crap and an overwhelming majority probably won't even give a second look for a really long time. This exercise made me see that more clearly. Nevertheless, it seems like my ideas do matter to me, so I simply must give them a real shot. As for success or failure, that's a matter of luck in the game, and it seems like a waste to worry about that crap. 

As if a safe career would ensure a happier life. I think this is the best woman can do with her time on Earth: try out a bunch of shit, find some shit you like, and spend as much time as possible doing it. I know that sounds like regurgitated Garyvee, but I think that guy's on to something for real. Now, I care about all the shit we talked about here, but hopefully the prioritisation is a bit clearer and that will help us move easier from now on.

I want to write a book? A story? Comic? Blog? Website? YouTube channel? I should fucking do it. All of it. In no particular order, any and all directions. That is as good as it gets on God's green Earth, and that's more than good enough. Family time, productive work, contributing to society, being healthy, eating right, getting laid, saving the world, making a difference, and all that shit can come after man.